You don’t have to be too real with yourself to know that Valentine’s Day is a taxing construct. Romanticized in metallic red, the love-fest provides a saccharine holiday substitute to hold us over until St. Patrick’s Day. Yet, before the drunken Irish parade comes to relieve us, we’re left stressing about the best type of chocolate that CVS carries and which restaurants are mediocre enough to take reservations around February 7.
More than a few "lonelyboyz" are up in arms, but the majority of the country is sick of love, not lovesick. The time has come for a new era of passion, so stop stuffing your face with sweethearts to avoid the fact that your bootycall hasn’t answered your last Snapchat. We're all sexually frustrated, so why hide it?
Introducing Alentine's Ay: a national celebration for anyone and everyone not getting the V or the D on February 14th.
In the empty wake of a Christmas tornado, we’re all looking for a distraction from work and the winter tundra. Seasonal depression is at its peak, so it seems cruel to additionally subject the entire nation to the social media pollution of the few, the proud, and the monogamous.
Alentine's Ay will unite those who are accruing a nightstand condom mountain, those entertaining a love affair with an HBO account, and those who are married to the mob. In the spirit of anarchy, overtly aggressive activities are highly encouraged.
Take your dildo to a monster truck rally. Read your most perverse erotica at the nearest poetry slam. I’ll be streaming a constant loop of softcore porn in the parking lot of Home Depot and you’re all invited. Celebration styles can vary in any way as long as they promote frivolous sexual emancipation and self-rule.
Whatever you do, just steer clear of the PDA couples. Their sentimental cooties are airborne and can be lethal in cases of extended exposure. If you find yourself cornered, play some somber Adele and watch them scatter.
The key is capitalizing on premeditated heartache. I’m not talking about those tummy tingles that you get when you see your ex holding hands with that barista with the neck tattoo. There's one surefire way to take control of this sugar high contagion: gorge on as much meaty goodness as your arteries can traffic.
Nothing stirs my loins like a fat stack of sirloins. Lust loses out to bloodlust in every arena and your filet mignon will never ask you if think it's rare enough. Spoiler alert: it's not like other steaks because it's your steak and what you have is special. Or maybe what you have is indigestion. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that we tear down any isolation breeding norm that says that I can't openly proclaim my love for my right hand and good ribeye.
Disguised in pink frills and lace ribbons, Valentine’s Day is an arcane wrecking ball reminding us of any sensual shortcomings. Who needs that jazz? This February, have yourself a joyous Alentine's Ay and meet your single crew at the local Quaker Steak & Lube. Let your lovestruck buddies do their thing, but don't forget that no bone can diminish a the beauty of a T-bone. Whether it's foodporn or it's more traditional counterpart, turn the volume up and rejoice.
